Well, that wasn't what I was expecting - I guess I forgot to consult the weather before I made all those grand plans for planting. There was none of that, only a lot of spring rain and spring fevers (literally). Instead though, it was a nice (minus the fevers), cozy, lazy, rainy spring weekend spent inside watching the outside turn green before our eyes.
A weekend full of scouring for the last bits of the year's wood supply, and then huddling by the wood stove; lots of reading, play dough, and knitting; a lot of Leonard Cohen (I can't help myself when it rains, thankfully my loves oblige); and day-long grazing on WHO Bread, tea, and rice pudding. Ah...a wonderful and momentary pause before the busy work of spring. On Sunday night, I was reminded of this beautiful poem by Mary Oliver. And on Monday morning, we saw what the rain had done. Oh, Spring. Imagine the long and wondrous journeys still to be ours.
Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me
Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,
what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again
in a new way
on the earth!
That's what it said
as it dropped,
smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches
and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing
under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,
and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment
my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars
and the soft rain -
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.
-Mary Oliver, from What Do We Know
